


No Smooth Ride

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Common Law
Genre: Bickering, M/M, Yuletide 2012, Yuletide Treat, accidentally falling in love, couples therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you ask me, you're pretty much married already," Jonelle tells him. "Liz and Richard, remember? Except that if you were, you'd at least get to have sex to balance out all that bickering."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Smooth Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hecate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/gifts).



> Many thanks to my wonderful beta who didn't complain when I sent her a 4k fic in an unfamiliar fandom two days before Christmas.

All things considered, therapy isn't so bad. 

Wes absolutely hates it, of course: hates sitting in a circle with a bunch of strangers (well, maybe not exactly strangers anymore – it's hard to consider someone a stranger once you know how often they have sex, or how they drive their spouse insane by leaving dirty socks on the coffee table) and talking about personal issues. Opening up. _Sharing._ It's not something that he enjoys doing, or something that comes easily to him. 

But it could be worse. Back when he was working at the law firm, they had a corporate client from an advertising agency who kept telling these stories about how their boss forced them to attend team building seminars because they didn't really get along. They would do those stupid trust exercises where you'd close your eyes and let yourself fall backwards and your partner had to catch you, and they'd play silly games and pretend that they were baby penguins. Yeah, Wes never got that one either. He isn't sure he wants to.

When they first got signed up for therapy, he thought that it would be like that. It's not, though. It's... painful at times and embarrassing and infuriating, but it's not stupid. Hard as it is to admit, it may actually be helpful. It's not miraculously making him and Travis see eye to eye; it's not getting Travis to cool down and take things seriously, to accept responsibility and act like a normal, grown-up person. But it helps them see things from each other's perspective, and that's something.

Travis seems to agree, considering how eager he was to continue therapy even when they didn't have to.

At least Wes hopes that's why he's doing it. Could be he's just trying to get into Dr. Ryan's pants, now that her engagement is off. You never know with Travis.

* * *

"All I'm saying is, you should be moving out of that hotel and finding your own place, man," Travis says, spreading his arms in a way that suggests that he's sharing some essential, world-changing revelation with the group, rather than sticking his nose in Wes' business where it doesn't belong. "You all agree with me there, right? It's almost a year now since he and Alex split. He needs to move on."

Travis looks around, waiting for the others to assent and receiving tentative nods in agreement. 

Wes feels a tension headache coming on.

"I have moved on. It's not about Alex. I just haven't found an adequate residence yet. It's a big decision, okay? You can't just pick the first house you see. There are many things to consider – neighborhood, size, layout, does it comes with a garage, how well kept is the garden..."

"It's a house, Wes, not rocket science. And I'm pretty sure not even rocket science is that complicated."

"Right. Because you know so much about rocket science when you need a calculator to fill in your tax return." Wes rolls his eyes.

Across the room, Dr. Ryan is taking down notes.

"Everyone needs a calculator for their tax return," Travis shoots back. "And we weren't talking about my math skills, which are perfectly fine by the way, but about your inability to accept the fact that your marriage is over and you have to start living on your own."

"No, _you_ were talking about that. I, meanwhile, was wondering why I ever agreed to continue coming here with you."

Dr. Ryan pointedly sets her pen down and looks at them, immediately drawing their attention to her, and the first thing she says since Travis started ranting is, "I think, gentleman, you've both just given us plenty of proof why continuing our consultations was in fact a good idea."

Everyone in the group is vigorously nodding in agreement.

Wes feels a little like when he was a child and his father berated him for messing up. He hates that feeling. Next to him, Travis sinks further down on his chair, looking every bit as chastised as Wes feels.

* * *

These days, the Captain is always frowning at them when they return from their sessions.

"Look, boys, far be it for me to dissuade you from sticking with something and actually seeing it through, but I may have overestimated the value of therapy, you know. It's pretty much a waste of time." 

Wes tries to find a diplomatic way to phrase his reply. "I'm sure it's not the same for everyone, Captain. It's not foolproof. But I think we're making some progress there."

"Yeah," Travis chimes in, "just because your wife cheated on you, kicked you out of the house and sent you the divorce papers doesn't mean the same thing's going to happen with us."

Wes rams his elbow into Travis' ribcage, but it's too late already. The Captain looks like he's either going to start crying or yelling at them, and Wes doesn't particularly care to be around for either, so he grabs Travis' arm and hastily makes up an excuse to be somewhere else.

"Seriously?" he asks, once they're a safe distance away. "Does the word tact even mean anything to you or is it just a random arrangement of four letters? You know, if we were actually married, I'd have kicked you out and divorced you months ago, therapy or not!"

Travis has the nerve to look all indignant and hurt. "Come on, man, that's not cool! I'd make an awesome husband. No one would divorce me. If anything, I'd be the one kicking you out."

At this point, though, Wes is already stalking off and he's halfway out of the door. Travis is shouting after him, and everyone in the office hears what he says, muted snickers accompanying Wes on his way out. Jonelle catches him at the elevator, grinning.

"If you ask me, you're pretty much married already," she tells him. "Liz and Richard, remember? Except that if you were, you'd at least get to have sex to balance out all that bickering."

Wes snorts. "The sex couldn't possibly be good enough to make it worthwhile."

The smirk on Jonelle's face turns wide. Wes always thought she liked him, but right now, he isn't so sure anymore, as she leans in and whispers in a hushed, conspiratorial voice, "As someone who's had sex with Travis, let me tell you, you're wrong."

The elevator chimes and opens, and Jonelle gets in. She winks at him before disappearing behind the closing doors, leaving Wes staring at his own reflection in the polished metal. 

It takes him entirely too long to remember that he was going to get in the elevator himself.

* * *

Dr. Ryan had told them that having sex dreams about your therapist was a sign of progress. Wes wonders what it means if you have sex dreams about your partner.

Not that he's going to ask.

He blames Jonelle. Well, mostly, he blames Travis. But he blames Travis for pretty much everything, so that's hardly even worth mentioning at this point.

* * *

He notices things about Travis. Like how he has the most amazing blue eyes. How he sprawls in his chair in a way that simultaneously manages to piss Wes off and make him think dirty thoughts. How he keeps touching Wes all the time, and it should make Wes twitch away or set off the need the wash it off, like it does when it's other people, but he's oddly at ease with it.

He tells himself that it's normal to notice these sorts of things, especially when you're a detective. It's his job to pay attention to details. To people. 

Even if there hasn't been anyone since Alex, he's still a healthy guy with a sex drive. He's bound to pay attention to features he finds attractive. Like Dr. Ryan's beautiful hair, or Jonelle's sharp wit, or Kendall's adorable smile. If he thinks that Travis has nice eyes, so what?

Doesn't mean a thing.

* * *

Today's session focuses on sharing about how they got together. They, meaning all the other couples, because Travis and Wes have already discussed the entire backstory about Paekman introducing them at the shooting range with Dr. Ryan, and neither of them fancies going through it again.

Dakota and Peter are telling some cutesy tale about how they used to work together that seems to come straight out of the rom-coms Alex dragged him to see when they started dating. It makes Wes wonder, not for the first time, why Dakota and Peter are doing couples counseling to begin with because they are basically the most well-adjusted couple Wes has ever met in his whole life.

Of course, Travis being Travis, he has to offer some sort of commentary. God forbid he'd actually sit and listen to something without somehow inserting himself into the context. 

"See, that's what I keep telling Wes." He points an accusing finger in his direction. "The office is a great place to meet someone. But Wes is all, 'you can't date anyone from the office, it's going to end badly'. Always bringing me down with his doom and gloom. I've started feeling guilty even looking at a hot new coworker! It's like I have a disapproving miniature version of Wes sitting on my shoulder all the time."

"Are you even serious?" Wes says, ignoring Mrs Dumont's muttered, "Here we go again."

"You did a lot more than just _look_ at the Captain's new secretary the other week, so apparently feeling guilty about it doesn't do anything to stop you from actually sleeping with coworkers. And just to make everyone aware of the scope of the situation, I'm not objecting to office romance in itself, I'm objecting to the fact that I'm pretty sure you've dated – and I'm using the word in the loosest sense here – every single woman in the department who's under forty. Most of them are not speaking to you anymore. At least two," he says, holding up two fingers to make a point, "have transferred just to get away from you."

"Whereas you are best friends with your ex, you regularly come round her house to do her gardening, and you haven't had a date since law school. And yet somehow, you seem to think that I'm the one having problems."

Wes grits his teeth. "How did this become about me?"

Travis smirks that annoying know-it-all smirk of his. "I'm just saying that you're jealous. That's why you get so mad every time I go out with someone from the department."

"Why would I be jealous of any of them?" Wes scoffs, indignant. "They hardly ever last a week before you move on to the next 'hot piece of ass'." He even makes little air quotes to emphasize what he thinks of Travis' dating habits. 

Everyone is looking at him in an awkwardly intense sort of way, and no one is saying anything. It's weird. Wes looks from one uncomfortable face to the next, waiting for them to speak up, to take sides, or to berate them for being unreasonable.

Next to him, Travis clears his throat. "I, er— I meant jealous of me."

Oh. That.

Well. 

His face heats up and he tries to hide behind his scowl. "Now that's ridiculous. Being jealous of you would imply that I wanted to be you, which I can assure you couldn't be further from the truth."

Miraculously, everyone lets his Freudian slip go.

* * *

Wes likes making lists.

He has a little book with lists in his desk drawer. People to send Christmas cards to. Alex's favorite meals. Living jazz musicians worth hearing play live. Requirements for the new house he will buy at some point (it may not be rocket science, but that doesn't mean it's easy). Birthdays to remember.

There is a list right at the back that has no title and only appeared fairly recently. It starts off with all the things that bother Wes about Travis, copied one by one from the list titled "Reasons why Travis is an awful partner" from the earlier pages of the book: 

_irresponsible_  
 _hot-headed_  
 _reckless_  
 _no sense of tact_  
 _messy_  
 _never apologizes_  
 _always looks for someone else to blame_  
 _loud-mouthed_  
 _never minds his own business_  
 _can't sit still_  
 _horrible taste in music and cars and fashion ~~and everything~~_

There's more, though, things that were not in the other list. Things that didn't apply there, but they're important here:

_womanizing_  
 _unable to commit to a serious relationship_  
 _flirts with everyone without meaning to_  
 _straight_

* * *

Travis gets shot.

They're in pursuit of a teenage gang member in an old warehouse and Wes is held back because the kid kicks a pile of iron poles loose and they clatter and roll into Wes' path, making him stumble and fall like a domino piece. He hears the gunshot echoing through the room, loud and hollow, and his heart almost stops.

"Travis," he calls out, trying to keep the panic from his voice. 

There is no answer.

He pulls himself up and rushes on in the direction of the noise, his pulse loud in his ears and his fingers clenched so tightly around the handle of his gun that his knuckles turn white.

Travis is lying on the floor, and there's blood everywhere, an ever-growing sea around the still body.

Wes can't stop calling Travis' name. He can't stop until he's at Travis' side, fingers against his neck and feeling the steady beat of a pulse.

It takes a lot longer for his own pulse to calm down in return. 

* * *

He rides in the ambulance to the hospital with Travis. He was lucky, they tell Wes: a clean shot through the shoulder, and a concussion from where he fell on the concrete floor.

Wes sits on uncomfortable hospital chairs until they patch up Travis' shoulder and a nurse comes to tell him that his partner (she says it with the kind of inflection that makes Wes wonder if anyone bothered to tell her that they're _police_ partners) is awake and ready to receive visitors.

Then he goes home.

* * *

Except he doesn't go home because he doesn't really have a home. He has a hotel room that's large and empty and has a fully stacked mini-bar, and Wes doesn't think he wants to be there right now.

If he were a different kind of guy, if he were more like Travis, he'd go to a bar, he'd get drunk until he can't remember the rush of fear at the sight of his partner lying in a pool of his own blood, and he'd take some girl up to his room with him. But as much as he sometimes gets tired of being himself, he doesn't know how to be anyone else.

So he doesn't go to a bar to get drunk. He doesn't hook up with a stranger. He doesn't go to his hotel room. 

He rings at Alex's doorbell at one in the morning. She answers bleary-eyed and in a dressing gown, looking beautiful and kind and not nearly as angry as she should, considering that her ex is standing on her doorstep in the middle of the night.

"Travis got shot," he says. And then, "Can I stay on your couch tonight?"

And Alex nods and lets him in and hugs him and asks him if Travis is all right, and Wes is choking up with gratitude and affection.

* * *

"He didn't come to see me even once," Travis is complaining to the group a week later. He sounds angry, but buried underneath there's so much hurt and disappointment that Wes wants to apologize and defend himself. Wants to say _I couldn't face you. I thought I had lost you and I couldn't have handled it and I couldn't face you afterwards when you were in hospital._

Instead, he shrugs and says, "I don't know what you're complaining about. It's not like you were mortally wounded. I stayed until I was sure you were okay, then I went home."

He's proud how cool and composed he sounds.

Every single member of the group is staring at him with judging, reproachful looks. He glances around, challengingly meeting their eyes until they avert their gazes. Dr. Ryan doesn't say a word, but she narrows her eyes at him and smiles as she scribbles something on her notepad, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that he hasn't fooled her at all.

* * *

Things return to normal.

Travis drives Wes insane every day. They bicker and fight and never see eye to eye about anything, but they'll have each other's backs when it counts. They steadily work their way to get a little closer to the Captain's arrest record.

Wes spends a lot of time staring at his list, the one in the back of his book, and he tries to find more things to add to it.

* * *

"So, I talked to Alex."

No conversation that started with those words ever ended well, so Wes does his best to hold it off as best he can. "I know you find it hard to separate between what's appropriate workplace conversation and what isn't, but can we maybe focus on the case for a moment? Shooter at the mall, remember? Unless that's not interesting enough for you?"

"Okay." Travis gives in with a shrug.

Too easy. Way too easy.

Wes eyes him suspiciously. 

"It's fine, man. Let's talk about the case. We can always clear up the other thing in counseling later."

Wes grinds his teeth. "You know that blackmail is a felony, right? Well. You talked to Alex. About what?"

"She says you came round the night after I was shot. Says you were – and those were her exact words – 'a complete mess'. I gotta say, man, I'm touched that you care. Though I'm not sure how I feel about you using my injury to score with your ex-wife."

For a moment, outrage over that last assumption cancels out Wes' embarrassment over Travis finding out that he basically fell apart at Alex's place that night.

"What? No, it wasn't like that," he protests, scandalized. "Alex and I, we're over. I just needed a friend. I know you're incapable of being platonic friends with a woman, but that doesn't mean that everyone feels that way."

Travis grins, bright and easy, and Wes feels a little like he's been played.

* * *

When Travis invites him for a drink after work, Wes declines.

Travis shrugs it off, turns around and asks Kendall. 

Wes absolutely isn't hurt or jealous of either of them. He is not. (They've talked about denial in therapy, a few weeks back. Wes isn't as good at it as he would like to be.)

* * *

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that there's a list in his book that he didn't write, somewhere near the end but before the untitled one. It's written in familiar, messy script, and Wes feels his insides clench when he notices it.

_stuck-up_  
 _infuriating_  
 _judgmental_  
 _bossy_  
 _spoil-sport_  
 _too cautious_  
 _unable to let go of habits_  
 _afraid to take risks_  
 _hates letting people know that he cares_  
 _makes wrong assumptions about other people's dating history_  
 _scared to make a move when he wants something_

He snaps the book shut, clenching his fists.

* * *

For once, he takes a page out of Travis' book and waits until their session the next day to confront him.

"He went snooping around my things," he tells Dr. Ryan and the others, highly satisfied when for once it's not him but Travis they're glaring at. Well, at least the women in the group are glaring. (He's not sure how that makes him feel. Since when is concern for privacy a purely female issue?)

"Oh come on, I wasn't snooping, I was looking for a stapler in your desk drawer. It's not my fault you leave your stuff out in the open like that," Travis argues. "And it's not like it wasn't my business. You made a list with reasons why you didn't want to date me, and most of them were wrong. It was practically my duty to correct them."

Wes hears a murmur going through the circle and he resolutely avoids looking at any of them. "It wasn't—" he begins, but he gives up pretending the list was anything but what it was before he even starts because there's just no reasonable way to explain it away and he doesn't want to give Travis any grounds to go into detail. "It doesn't matter. You wouldn't have seen what was in the book if you hadn't opened it in the first place."

"Leaving aside the invasion of privacy for a moment," Dr. Ryan begins, and Wes' head snaps around towards her. 

"We are we leaving that aside? I don't want to leave it aside."

She ignores him and turns to Travis. "How does that list make you feel? You said that you were compelled to correct him because his reasons for not dating you were wrong. Does that mean you do want him to date you?"

The room falls silent. Wes won't look at Travis.

"I want him to... want to date me?" Travis tries tentatively, and Wes feels the abrupt and not unfamiliar desire to throw a punch at him. Months and months of practice of holding back, and all he does is release a humorless laugh.

"And this right here, everyone, is a prime example of why I definitely do not want to date Travis," Wes says, standing up. "I think I've had enough counseling for one day. Goodnight all, Doctor."

He hasn't walked out of a session since the very early days, but right now, he just needs to not be in the same room as Travis.

It's Travis' hand on his arm that stops him before he can leave, though, fingers digging into his suit, wrinkling the fabric. 

"Let go of me," Wes warns.

"You're totally overreacting," Travis says. "I didn't mean it like that. It came out wrong, I just meant—" He shrugs, looking helpless and vaguely frustrated. 

It's as close to an apology as Travis will get, Wes knows, and apparently Travis doesn't just hate apologizing and avoids it at all costs, he's also really, really terrible at it. But the fact that he tried should count for something, after all, and Wes lets himself be dragged back to his chair.

* * *

"We should have dinner together," Travis tells him the next day, bent over a file while eating a donut, pretending to engrossed in both to avoid looking at Wes. "You could cook something."

Wes blinks. "Wow, did you just invite yourself to my place so that I could make dinner for the both of us? Also, hell no. Do I need to remind you of the two lists of reasons, both yours and mine, why we should not under any circumstances be dating?"

Travis finally looks up. "Most of your list was wrong, and my list was more of a list of reasons why you were wrong. And the rest of the stuff, you know, all the stuff we find annoying about each other, that's not going to change whether we're dating a lot. At least if we were, we'd get to have sex."

"That's what Jonelle said."

"What? You talked to Jonelle about this?" Travis frowns at him, clearly not happy with the idea, and Wes wonders if it's mean to let him think that when in fact Jonelle was only teasing him. Before he can make up his mind, Travis' expression clears. "I guess it's only fair. I did talk to Alex about it, after all."

"You did _what_?"

* * *

They have dinner.

It's not a date, just two colleagues eating together, no big deal. Wes prepared filet mignon, which is really not all that special, but Travis keeps making those little orgasmic noises when he eats that make Wes feel at the same time embarrassed, annoyed and uncomfortably aroused.

Afterwards, they manage to get into a full-blown fight over who should do the dishes. Travis insists that it should be him because Wes already cooked, but Wes has no desire to have Travis spraying water all over his kitchen. 

They're shouting at each other when Travis suddenly pushes him backwards against the kitchen counter and shuts him up with his mouth against Wes'. It actually takes Wes a moment or two until his brain registers that they're kissing. It's surprisingly… nice. In a good way. (He'll never understand people's insistence to give the word 'nice' a negative connotation.) And then Travis pushes closer and slides his hand around the back of his neck, and Wes stops thinking about linguistics.

Perhaps they're on a date after all.

* * *

"Aww, look at them, they're positively glowing," Mr. Dumont teases when they all sit down. "I think it's safe to say that they took their relationship to the next level."

Travis sprawls in his seat and grins. "We went on a date. Wes cooked, actually. And then he kicked me out because he was apparently channelling his inner Victorian lady and refused to put out on the first date."

"Good for you, boy," Rozelle says, and holds up her fist for Wes to bump. Wes stares at it for a bit before tentatively touching his against it.

"How do you feel about it?" Dr Ryan asks, looking at them expectantly.

It feels more awkward than usual, and Wes has new respect for the other couples who've been discussing their sex life with the group for months without batting an eye.

Apparently, Travis has no problems with it either. "Beside the fact that he's withholding sex, pretty good," he says, altogether too casual.

"We'll see how it goes," Wes concedes. "At least we're both aware of all the things that bother us about each other going into this, so there's a good chance there won't be any nasty surprises."

Dr. Ryan nods, looking from him to Travis and back again. "As long as you don't expect it to be a smooth ride from here on."

Travis snickers. "Interesting choice of words."

Wes groans. "I can't believe you made that pun. What are you, twelve? I changed my mind. I don't want to date you after all." He isn't really sure if he's joking, but apparently everyone else decided that he is because they're all starting to laugh. 

Once the group has settled down again, Dr. Ryan sets her pen down and says, "I think now would be a good time for some trust exercise."

Wes sighs and hopes it won't involve role playing as baby penguins. Travis' hand lands on his knee, and Wes looks at it for a long moment, contemplating whether or not to push it off. He decides against it.

End.


End file.
